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Author: RSS Story: A Less-Than-Perfect Love Rating: Teens Setting: Post-DH Status: Completed Reviews: 5 Words: 232,639
The rain beat down on the silky, shimmering fabric of his Cloak, and he was glad that, wet or dry, he was hidden. He could hardly see Ginny on the pitch. She was a fleck of red ponytail in what looked like Quidditch practice robes. Her tryouts were going poorly, mostly because there were so few students this year to pick from. Most of those who would have been the seventh-year boys had not returned: after Colin was killed in the battle, most of their parents had not been ready to part with their dear sons for Hogwarts again. A few of the fifth- and sixth-year boys and girls and seventh-year girls were trying out again. Demelza was there and would Chase with Ginny. Even Romilda Vane had taken to Chasing with some enthusiasm. Harry hoped this wasn’t to impress some boy and that she would come through for Ginny this year. Keeper this year would be played by Jack Edgewater, a boy in Ginny’s year who, according to Ginny from in her letters, had been absent from school last year, his parents having sent him off to boarding school in America. He had come back much taller and more hulking than the skinny blond boy she remembered, and had brought some Chasing techniques with him, from the American game Quodpot, that Ginny thought would come in handy for the team. The idea of Ginny sitting up at night in the common room talking Quodpot with Jack sort of had him on edge as he read it but Harry had forgotten about it until now. As for Beaters, Ginny had to make do with two smarmy-looking third-years named Graham and Andrew. Harry knew they would not realize their full potential with Quidditch until well after Ginny was gone from Hogwarts. He looked back down at the pitch, realizing that now she was trying to pick up a Seeker, and this was proving to be the most difficult. There were about five students going out for Seeker and of the three who had taken their turn, not one had been able to catch the Snitch within the ten minutes allotted. Harry scanned the pitch again from one side to the other, watching the fourth student to try out for Seeker. He recognized her as Ginny’s dormitory mate, Meredith. She had always been a part of the crowd of giggling girls back when he and Ginny were an item at Hogwarts. He wouldn’t have taken her for a Quidditch player back then, but Meredith seemed to have her wits about her on the pitch. He watched Meredith fly in and out of the goalposts, following the tiny ball, unable to catch up. She then hovered a bit by the third goalpost, seemingly looking for the Snitch. Harry saw it flick by the top of the middle post. The Snitch then stopped and Meredith did a loop around the top goalpost, and picked the ball gently out of the air. Harry clapped softly. In his opinion, a job well done. Ginny released the Snitch again and Harry watched the last in the queue of potential Seekers. It was a boy who couldn’t have been more than a third- or fourth-year. This time the Snitch flew off much quicker than it had any of the other times. Harry sat forward to watch. The boy, obviously very comfortable in the air, dove from the height of the goalposts to mid-field, nearly breaking top speed on the Cleansweep Seven and scooped the Snitch out of the air victoriously. The boy was quick and a good flyer, and seemed far more eager than Meredith. This boy certainly had Harry’s approval for Seeker. If there was some way he could get to Ginny to tell her that before she decided to pick Meredith, who he figured had been her first choice, he would. However, she was down there and he was stuck up here, hiding himself. He was alone. Ron had not come today, as he was helping George out at the shop and Hermione was revising in the library. Besides that, there was a Hogsmeade weekend coming up in ten days' time. Harry hadn’t really been keen on making the trip to Hogwarts just for Ginny’s tryouts, but he knew it made her happy, so he did it. He had formally begun his coursework with the academy last week, and was more tired than usual. There was a small crowd gathered towards the bottom of the stands, mostly Gryffindors. Then, Harry saw Luna down below and decided to throw something at her to get her attention. He found a small pebble and directed it at her. He didn’t think it was suspicious. Even though he was invisible, if anyone was sitting up in the stands talking to herself in the rain it would be Luna. She climbed the steps, and moved to the far end, then sat next to him like it was the most normal thing in the world. The strange part was he was entirely invisible right now, yet she knew he was there. “Hi Harry. Ginny looks very normal today. Like she used to look before.” “Before what?” “Look, Ginny’s picking someone for the team.” He looked up. Harry watched the young boy sulk off the field. He would have to put his two Knuts in about that boy as soon as he found Ginny. He also realized that tryouts had ended. He stood. “Sorry, Luna, I need to go.” “Hey.” He was still invisible. She froze. Then her face relaxed, her expression turned from strained to pleased as a small smile warmed her face. “You were here. I thought that was who Luna was talking to. Of course, I wouldn’t put it past her. She’d be the only one I would imagine to sit and talk to herself on the highest stands in the rain.” “I think you’re right.” She stood, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and went back to securing the rest of her belongings. Harry subsequently regained control over his breathing pattern. “Jeremy has a lot of heart. I think in the end I’ll choose him, but I told them both I’d have to think on it and I’d let them know tomorrow. Thanks for the input.” “You’re going to be a great captain, Ginny.” “Hey, off the pitch, people!” she shouted, as a few stragglers left over from tryouts began sauntering towards the exits. “You are! You’re great at Quidditch. You were the best Chaser on my team. And you won the cup for me. That was incredible; the best thing you could have done for me at the time.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. ** Their wands clattered onto the floor of the broom cupboard along with Ginny’s Quidditch bag. The last time he had seen her at Grimmauld place, the fifteen minutes they had before Ron had barged in, had been amazing. Right now it seemed that they were picking up exactly where they'd left off in his bedroom. He locked the door, and they were completely alone and apart from anyone who could disturb them. Harry felt as if he were in a surreal place, like he was dreaming the whole time. He felt great about this visit as well, so far. Unlike the last time they had seen one another, there were no uncomfortable silences at lunch, and now, there was no having to wait for the right time to kiss her. They were cosy from the start, which he found he preferred. Perhaps she was glad he had written — and he had written to her. Twice. Once a week as she had requested. Maybe that’s why she was so enthusiastic. Was he being rewarded? Yes, he thought as she held his shirt collar and pulled him against her. Perhaps he was. Harry could admit he wanted to be nowhere else in the entire world. He wanted to stay in this broom cupboard under the staircase until tomorrow, running his hands over her. Under her Quidditch robes, which she had taken off at lunch, she wore a pair of tight leggings and a soft, tight-fitting shirt which made it easy to feel every gentle curve, every shapely part of her little body. He couldn’t believe that he had made it through lunch without attacking her, she looked so good. Harry gripped her waist and curved his arm around her, holding her as close as possible and marvelling at how small she was, how soft her skin was, how she felt pressed against him; his body was forcing him to act and having to deny himself took a lot of energy. What could they possibly do in a broom cupboard? Yet, her fingertips were wandering slowly. His heart raced as she slid both of her small hands under his vest and lightly traced slow circles on his back and shoulders with her fingernails. He felt himself groan with her every touch while he pulled her even closer to him. She moved her hands to his front, where she pushed up the front of his shirt and did the same thing with her fingertips on his stomach, kissing him gently the entire time. He let one hand fall loosely against the curve of her arse, while his other intrepid hand wandered up her shirt. Then, in a slightly crazed move, he turned and pushed her gently against the side wall of the tiny space and pinned her between himself and the cold stone. They froze, both breathing quickly, until Ginny threw her arms around his neck and kissed him like mad. Harry was losing his mind. He had never felt like this. Not even in summer. For some reason, every little touch of her fingertips felt a thousand times better than he remembered. He couldn’t believe in a few short hours they were to be separated. Again. For weeks. It wasn’t fair. His chest hurt. It felt so good to be close to her, so right. Did she feel how good this was? Why would they ever want to stop this? He didn’t. Harry felt another deep noise escape from his throat as he felt her grab hold of the waist of his jeans. That was enough. No. Not here. He clutched her hand and hurriedly linked his fingers in hers, then draped her arms up around his neck again. He couldn’t stop himself though, it was too late. He moved himself then, even further against her and looked into her eyes. It was the way she looked at him, clung to him, with this sincere trust; he had seen the same look last summer, especially that night in her room before she left for school. Now, he couldn’t quite blame himself for this reaction. When she looked at him like that, it made him lose himself and go right crazy for her and he wanted her to know it, to feel it, too. The world could have turned upside down at that moment and he wouldn’t have known. Everything seemed perfect to him. Peaceful. He felt her against him, felt her body close to his. He kissed her again. He opened his eyes a bit to watch her kiss him, and she was kissing him with enthusiasm and passion — it was the loveliest thing imaginable. Ginny. He remembered this feeling. It was the same one he had in his living room at Grimmauld Place. Feeling like he had all the answers when she was in his arms. He knew what he wanted. He wanted Ginny, he needed her always-to make him feel this good. Always. The word knocked around in his mind for a few moments. Suddenly, Harry felt dizzy. He was too warm, too out of breath. He ended the kiss abruptly, breathing fast. She responded with a slight groan, and more kissing. Although it was hard to not kiss her back, he did not and she swiftly picked up on his message. He knew he had made himself look completely obvious. And idiotic. “What’s wrong?” she barely whispered. Her long hair fell across his arms. Harry shook his head and rubbed his eyes a few times. He could barely see anything in the dim light but the soft curtain of red. “What’s going on?” She leaned her forehead against him. “Sorry. Nothing.” He pulled away and rubbed his forehead and eyes. “I know.” “Are you thinking of something, Harry?” she said in a small voice. “Maybe I’m a bit more tired then I thought. You know, it’s only just noon. I’m not fully awake yet.” He tried to joke. It had been a joke between them in the summer since he had slept most days past lunch. She said nothing, but sighed in the way that she did when she was worried for him. A few moments later he succumbed. He didn’t want her to worry. He was fine. Say something nice to her. “You really want to know what I’m thinking about, don’t you?” He looked at his watch. “It’s having to leave you in approximately two hours.” Harry thought that this was a good alternative to, ‘I’m up to wondering whether or not I love you, still undecided.’ Ginny lifted her head off his chest and he took the opportunity to put his glasses back on. Ginny was looking at him. He felt so damn lucky to have the privilege of being the only one to get to admire her up close in his wand light. Her hair was appropriately tousled from his hands running through it; her cheeks and lips were pink and full from kissing. She smiled. It was so genuine, she radiated happiness. “For real? You mean that?” “Yeah.” He paused and wondered. If she looked this happy after his saying that, how would she look at him if he ever did get to telling her he loved her? “I do. Mean that.” “Well, if that’s the case, then we’re both dreading it and it’s not a great topic for conversation when we’re together. To be honest, I’m not going to sit and get all gutted about it, especially when we’ve got so little time.” She pecked him on the lips again and proceeded downwards towards his neck. “Neither should you.” “There, that’s better. There you are. A bit of laughter heals the soul.” “Maybe.” He stopped laughing and frowned in the dark. He didn’t like thinking about souls or even mentioning them. At all. The broom cupboard was where they stayed until he left for Hagrid’s. ** Ginny grinned ear to ear as she found her place at breakfast the next morning. She had just left Meredith and Jeremy, who had met her in the common room, both itching to hear her verdict on who would play Seeker this year. Neither of them was disappointed. Jeremy would be first string. Meredith would get to play in one match, and would back up Jeremy in case he couldn’t play. Meredith would also go to regular practise sessions with the team, which Ginny thought was very fair. Meredith was pleased, and went to quickly write to her mum who had, oddly enough, been a Keeper for the Holyhead Harpies in the seventies and had always wanted to see her daughter play. Meredith hadn’t had much interest in Quidditch until this past summer. She had been separated from her mum during the war, as her father was a pureblood, and her mother, a Muggle-born, had been sent to Azkaban. Thankfully, her mum had survived and Meredith had spent the summer in the country, finally letting her mum teach her Quidditch. Ginny poured herself a cup of tea, and held the mug to her nose, inhaling the steam, glad for the quiet Sunday morning at breakfast, where most of the students who weren’t fifth- or seventh-years were still resting. That night, she had dreamt about Harry. She was flying with him over a deep blue ocean, holding him from the back. She could feel his hand in hers and she was planting tiny kisses on his neck like she had done in the broom cupboard. Ginny took a slow sip, feeling the heat prickle down her neck and she thought about how barmy in love she was and how happy a day yesterday had been. Harry had come to her. He had kissed her yesterday like he wanted her — and only her. He had even told her at one point that he didn’t want to leave her at the end of the day. For now, Ginny felt more confident and secure in her relationship with Harry than she had ever been. Even though there had been a moment where he had changed, and become a bit tense, she was able to get him to forget about whatever he was thinking and the hours in the broom cupboard had been happy. Ginny wanted to tell him how he had made her feel. She didn’t want to hold it in any longer, but she didn’t know how not to. She couldn’t just blurt out to him how much she loved him! Yet, somehow, she had to tell him something of how she felt or she would explode. She never wanted to be apart from him like this — ever again — once this year was over. She wished to tell him that because it was all she could think about when they were together. She looked up. Blond “Quodpot” Jack Edgewater had since sat down diagonally across from her, to her right, and when she looked up, he grinned at her. She gave him a small wave and dove into her book bag. She held a notebook in her lap, where she scribbled GW heart HP heart heart heart heart, just to have something to do so she looked busy. It wasn’t like other boys weren’t interested in her. They didn’t know she was taken. Most, apart from Hermione, Luna, and Neville, who was gone for the year, had no idea who she was dating or if she was with anyone. Ginny wasn’t publicizing her romance, if you could call it that. Her dorm mates kept asking about Harry, but she still felt uncertain about mentioning that they were anything more than friends. She rarely spoke about Harry to Hermione in public places without casting Muffliato. Quodpot Jack was a nice guy, and Ginny just tried to be nice to everyone without making anyone feel bad, but as muscular and tan as her classmate had come back, he wasn’t taking up a thought in her mind. Harry took up all her thoughts, there was hardly space left for much else. “Hi Ginny.” She snapped the notebook closed. It was Hermione, who had been away at the library when she gone to bed last night, and had already been gone when she woke up this morning. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she seemed tired, which wasn’t surprising. Did Hermione sleep in the library? On the contrary, she knew that Hermione was allowed to use the Floo from McGonagall’s office to speak with her parents and even Ron so she must have been doing that last night as well. “Morning.” Ginny sat up straight, pressing the notebook against her chest. “Have some tea.” “Thanks. Did you finish your essay yet for Defence Against the Dark Arts yet? I was in the library revising mine already this morning.” “Oh, that? Yeah…I did.” She had worked on it last night in the common room but had been too happy and relaxed to focus on protective spells. She had finished it up hurriedly towards the end of the evening, aware it wasn’t her best work. Today was Sunday and she knew she would have all day today to revise in the library — oh, and revise for her Transfiguration exam… After she wrote a long letter to Harry, of course, to tell him what a nice time she had with him. “Owls.” Hermione looked up as Pig began flying in excited circles about her head. “Hello, Pigwidgeon.” She reached up to capture the tiny owl, but he bounced off her fingers, twittering madly. Remembering Harry’s words, Ginny reached into a zip pocket of her bag and tossed Pig one of the owl treats she always kept there for the school owls; if their beaks were busy, they had less of a tendency to nip her fingers when she tied Harry’s letters to their legs. Pig now caught the treat in mid-flight. The added weight was too much for him and he sank slowly onto the table which enabled Hermione to retrieve her letter and pet the small owl while he devoured his treat. A great brown tawny owl suddenly landed in front of Ginny. It carried a small rectangular box, wrapped in plain brown paper. There was a card attached, her name printed on the front in curly lettering. Ginny removed the package from the owl’s leg. She watched Pig nudge the tawny owl. The great tawny turned its nose at Pig, looking slightly perturbed before flying off. “Who’s it from?” Jack, who must have been observing, casually slid over and was now directly across the table from her. “I don’t know.” Ginny inspected the package, trying hard to place the curly handwriting in her mind. “Open it,” Hermione urged. “Yeah, go on, Ginny. Open it.” Ginny opened the envelope first, unsure of why she felt suddenly nervous. Could it be from Harry? No, that wasn’t his handwriting on the front. Yet, for some reason, her fingers were a bit clumsy, as she unfolded the parchment. She scanned the letter. The handwriting was not recognizable to her so she automatically dropped her eyes to the bottom, to read the signature. “You’ll not believe this.” She looked up at Hermione, a bit shocked. “It’s from Fleur.” “Who’s Fleur?” Quadpot Jack pressed on, grinning at her. “She’s my sister-in-law,” Ginny answered quickly, while she stuffed the letter back into the envelope and then into her bag. She told herself she would read it later. She turned to Hermione again to speak, but Jack interrupted. “You have a sister-in-law? Which brother of yours is married?” Ginny sighed, then turned to Hermione, who was buttering a slice of toast. “Why do you suppose Phlegm is writing to me?” Hermione shrugged. “Is that the same Fleur from the Triwizard Tournament?” Jack asked, interrupting again. “Yes!” Ginny and Hermione answered together, more annoyed than before. “That’s your brother’s wife?” Jack screwed his face up as if he were thinking really hard. Probably about Fleur’s arse, Ginny thought. Every male student at Hogwarts her third year, including her stupid brother Ron, had drooled when Fleur so much as bent over to tie her bootlace. “Maybe she wanted to say hello?” Hermione whispered, “Open the package. What did she send?” It was full of biscuits. How… lovely? They seemed very… French to Ginny. All powdery and perfect. She pushed the box away from her. “Here, Jaques. Have a Madeleine,” Ginny quoted in her very best and most exacting Fleur impression. *** The shop was about to open, but Harry had arrived early in hope of seeing George. He had just been to the owl post to mail Ginny’s weekly letter. He had also mailed a letter to Luna which stated that he would give The Quibbler his interview. He had spoken about it back and forth with Hermione through the Floo last week, and she agreed that, if he was to do an interview, it would be with The Quibbler, which had been so keen to help him back in fifth year. She had also agreed to sit in with him, for support, or to fill in when he had trouble. Harry had used the word “eventually” in his letter, however, and he had told Luna that he would contact her father when he felt ready to sit down and talk about his experiences. He knew that even the sheer act of agreeing to do the exclusive interview would make Luna happy regardless of when it was done. Harry had not seen George since summer, but he had been thinking a lot about him lately for some reason. Perhaps it was Ron’s constant chattering about George and the shop. Since he was in Diagon Alley anyhow, Harry thought it would be a good time to stop by. However, when he arrived, George was still upstairs. Ron, who he had seen at breakfast, obviously had not arrived yet and the shop had not opened for the day. Harry, who had knocked gently on the door a few minutes earlier, had been let in by Felicity who was running around, boxing up what were obviously owl orders. Harry stood in a corner near the till. Often, during last summer, Molly and Ginny would visit George here, to bring him meals, but Harry, Hermione and Ron had not accompanied them on any of those occasions. Therefore, Harry was surprised to see how incredible the shop looked. It was one of the only shops in Diagon Alley that was virtually untouched; one could see the gleaming red-painted brick and the gold awning from a hundred yards away. It seemed that George had spent all his energy and grief this past summer on turning Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes into an even more fantastic show of odd, strange and exciting magic than it had been before. Harry was pleased and very glad to have given Fred and George the Galleons to make this happen. He was also looking forward to seeing the new Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes in Hogsmeade in just a few days. George was obviously going full speed ahead these days, which was healthy, and Harry was glad he had things to focus on, which Harry understood must help keep his mind off the grief. Harry looked around, wandering a bit. He looked up through rows of fireworks of every kind, from dragons to demons, to Fillibuster’s No Heat-Wet Start Fireworks, all varieties. He wandered by a very colourful display of Patented Day-Dream Charms, some featuring desert oases, some featuring swashbuckling pirates, and wandered on to a huge display of every variety of joke sweet imaginable. Memories of watching second-years explode into canaries and break out in boils made him grin. Then he came across the pygmy puff cage and stopped because they reminded him of Ginny. He never understood what she loved so much about that little ball of fur, Arnold, but it was cute. She loved animals and they always seemed to like her as well. Crookshanks always favoured Ginny; he had spend much of the evening curled up by her feet last summer while Hermione would read and he and Ron played chess in the evenings. Suddenly he was interrupted by a blonde witch who had just walked into the shop. He looked up and realized that there was a huge open sign in the window, big and bright, that had not been there before. Felicity must have unlocked the shop. The girl had to be right around his age although he did not recognize her. “Hi, Harry.” “Hullo,” he responded, still looking down at the colourful fur balls all huddled together in their cage. “I’m Sara. I was a Hufflepuff a year ahead of you?” He paused to study her face a bit better. “Sorry. I don’t think we ever had classes together.” “No. But I remember you.” Harry pushed his glasses up his face. “Me?” “Yeah, well, of course I do. You’re hard not to notice.” Harry paused, looking around to see if George or Ron had come down, but they had not. Sara went on, “I saw you at the Post Office and then noticed you walked in here. I work at Madam Malkin’s now… I was set to go to school to become a Healer but then my dad was killed by Death Eaters. Now I’m saving some money to take time off, travel the world. Get away for awhile.” “Sounds good.” He didn’t know what else to say and instead he watched a green Pygmy Puff climb atop a turquoise blue one which oddly reminded him of Teddy’s hair. “Hey, I was wondering…” Sara leaned against the cage, and Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets. He noticed her expression change, and also the tight sweater she was wearing made her ample cleavage apparently obvious, “Are you still going out with Ginny Weasley? I mean, I hear rumours. You’re the one who knows the truth, I suppose? It is a serious thing or just when you’re together?” Harry didn’t like when people questioned him about Ginny. He was used to mentioning that they were just friends and often felt protective of her, and their relationship. He didn’t want his personal life or her name to be anywhere near the gossip columns of the Daily Prophet or Witch Weekly. He had no idea who this Sara was or what she wanted. “Why do you want to know?” Perhaps she had sensed his tone as her expression changed. She stood up a bit. “No reason. It’s just, back at school when I used to see you two together at school my seventh year, you looked pretty happy. So if you were with her seriously then I’d have no reason to ask you out for a lunch pint. But if you weren’t… on the off-chance the rumours were false, we could go and get that drink…” Just at that moment, George’s voice preceded him downstairs. “Sorry, Sara, is it? Pretty name… I need to go, though. Great to see you. Sorry ‘bout your dad again. I’m sure he was a great person and I’m sure you loved him… very much. And I’m so sorry for it. I really am.” “Thanks, Harry.” Sara’s eyes became a bit glassy, and just as she looked down, Harry turned away. By the time he reached George, she was gone. He hated to turn girls down, hated them to think he was a twit. He also hated hurting their feelings, but mostly he hated hearing their stories. Each one had some sort of relative that had passed away in the war, whether it was a parent or beloved uncle or sibling. What was he supposed to say? Everyone seemed to have a story for him these days, especially now that he was around the Ministry every day and Diagon Alley once a week. The more he heard, the more it made him want to just get away for awhile as well. Go back to The Burrow, for instance, and not leave. “Who was that?” George, his long hair framing his face, made a gesture and crossed his arms over his chest in a stance as they watched Sara escape down the street. “She wasn’t in here to buy anything? Perhaps a love potion?” “She asked me out,” Harry said flatly. “What’s that — a world record? — Ron tells me. This must be three times in a week you’re turning down dates. You must be in love!” Harry’s heart fell. Was he? Was that the reason? Harry wondered. No. Even if Ginny didn’t exist he would have had no desire to take Sara out on a date. She seemed like a nice girl and she had a very nice sweater on, but she wasn’t… his type. Harry glanced back at George, who was no longer standing beside him. He had already begun helping a group of primary school children. Harry knew he wouldn’t have much time to see George today so he would have to try again next week. He guessed that it was hard to socialize when you had a busy shop to run. Of course, not a moment later, one small boy in the crowd recognized him instantly from the paper and he had to escape out the back door where the mail-order owls were waiting. He checked his watch and realized he was late, and turned and closed his eyes, heading for the Ministry and the Auror’s dungeon. ***
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